


Again.

by onwardandupward



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Returns, M/M, Magic, Other Characters but don’t want to spoil, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onwardandupward/pseuds/onwardandupward
Summary: When a soaking wet Arthur Pendragon ends up finding him in some seedy bar off Glastonbury, Merlin  believes himself to be mad. If Arthur was going to come back,surely,he would’ve come sooner. Merlin supposes he’s gone well and truly insane.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 192





	Again.

**Author's Note:**

> hii. one of of first works so it’s definitely not perfect but hopefully you enjoy regardless. just a one-shot for now, but might continue it in the future. :))

He’s dripping, his ridiculous chainmail garb—a few hundred years out of date now—utterly soaked and pooling onto the wooden floor of the bar. 

Merlin should’ve never opened his eyes. The guy wasn’t _that_ bad of a kisser, Merlin just got a bit distracted, and next thing he knew he was slowly checking out his surroundings. Of course his mind had to manifest Arthur-bloody-Pendragon in the midst of the bar.

Arthur’s eyes dart anxiously around the busy bar, roving over the fluorescent lights, the mass of bodies and vibrant attire, and then landing on the telly in the corner. (Last Merlin checked, the Hornets were being absolutely pummeled by the Braves.)

Merlin curses his mind. (Or were the six pints from earlier responsible for this addled hallucination? There’d also been a few draws from that bloke’s joint.)

Merlin disentangles himself from Nick—or was it Rick?— and patiently waits as he extricates his tongue from his mouth and takes his hands back from their steady descent down Merlin’s back. 

The bloke, a fit blonde who bears absolutely no resemblance to the aforementioned drenched marijuana-induced hallucination, because that would be completely and utterly pathetic, grumbles. “Wanna take things somewhere else?”

Merlin flashes another glance to the front of the entrance, where Arthur is apparently transfixed with an umbrella, of all things. He reckons that after a few centuries his mind would be a bit more creative by now, or at least spice up these imaginary scenarios. 

“I have— something to do. A friend needs me,” he frowns. 

The man whose name ends with -ick (That much Merlin is certain), waves a hand nonchalantly. “No worries, mate- Is it that bloke over there? He’s bloody plastered.”

His eyes latch onto Arthur like he’s actually seeing him, and Merlin’s gaze darts between the two of them frantically. He grabs his sleeve and jerks his attention back to him. “You see him too?”

The man wrests his arm grew and looks at him like he might be mad. “Doesn’t really slip under the radar. He just stabbed himself in the eye with that umbrella— Is that my umbrella?”

Merlin leaves his sputtering hookup behind and shoves his way through the crowd. He lingers for a second, appraising his long-dead King. That same face that haunted him, both in his dreams and the waking world. 

Merlin reminds himself, long-dead and never coming back. He’s had the past fifteen-hundred years to come to terms with that fact, he certainly wasn’t going to dwell in self-pity now. 

Arthur lets out a shout when Merlin approaches from behind, dragging him out of the bar and depositing him onto the still-damp cobblestones.

It’s a cold night, the full-moon high in the side and illuminating the harsh lines of his King’s face.

Arthur scrabbles elegantly to his feet and brandishes the umbrella like a sword, deftly spinning it in his pale hands. “You dare lay a hand on the King of Camelot? Tell me, what is this strange place of- of witchcraft?”

A car rolls down the street and honks loudly, leaving Arthur looking absolutely terrified. He jabs his makeshift weapon in it’s direction as it speeds past. Merlin just makes out a “Bloody hell.”

Merlin laughs. Really, his day had been absolutely terrible— Who knew traffic would be so horrendous on Christmas Eve? He’s not in the mood to tolerate this fake-Arthur. He’ll just disappear in a few hours when his head stops spinning, so what’s the bloody point?

A couple centuries ago, he would’ve taken whatever he could get with Arthur, but not today. He’s so tired.

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not in Camelot anymore. Your words won’t hold any sway here.”

Arthur freezes and steps forward, “Merlin? What the hell?”

Merlin’s heart throbs painfully and he blinks furiously. “Save it. I’ve re-enacted this situation a hundred times over, I’m not interested anymore.”

Merlin pivots and leaves Arthur behind. Once he gets back to his flat, he’ll break out that stash of wine the Kennedy’s gifted him. He still had that small tub of mint-chocolate in the freezer, and the newest season of Gilmore Girls to watch. Come morning, all of this would be forgotten. 

Unsurprising, he hears a second set of footsteps squelch beside him. Arthur grips his shoulder and moves in front of him before Merlin can step any further. “Merlin, what on Earth are you talking about? Tell me the meaning of this. I nearly drowned in a lake, and then the-“

Merlin gripped Arthur’s arm and tugged him along a crosswalk and through an intersection. “Might as well cross now, no cars are coming.” Arthur, confusedly, followed along and began again.

“Do you even hear me? I nearly drowned, and then some ghost started spouting about-“

“The Lady of the Lake,” Merlin said flatly. “Or, alternatively, Freya. The girl you stabbed and left to die.”

Arthur shook his head. “Freya? But- She was a monster,” Merlin grunted, but Arthur plowed on,” That’s beside the point. Where am I? And what the hell happened to you?”

They rounded a corner and Merlin shrugged, tossing his hands out casually and waving to the sky. “Does it matter? Look, can you just like, piss off? I have an awful headache and this whole thing is a bit pointless, considering you aren’t real.”

Arthur sniffed indignantly. “God, you smell like you drank an entire tavern. You’re drunk,” he realized. 

Merlin nods dramatically and dips into a low bow, almost toppling over before a hand steadies him. “Astute observation, sire.”

“Stop that. Can you explain to me what the hell is going on? What do you mean, I’m not real? Are we- are we dead?”

Merlin laughs louder. God, he was swearing off drugs after this. For a good while. At least a month or two. “I wish. I’m perfectly alive, but you died centuries ago. Immortality’s a pain in the ass.”

Arthur froze. “Centuries. Centuries. That can’t be-“ 

“Should I summon up a newspaper, Your Highness? I’d show you the calendar on my phone but in your state you’d probably have an aneurysm.”

“Don’t- What year is it?”

“You picked a bloody perfect time. Boot-cut jeans are officially on the outs, thank God. You also missed the horrifying double denim fad. Even you couldn’t have pulled it off-“

“Merlin. What. Year?”

“2010. About fifteen-hundred years after your untimely demise.” He said slowly, fairly certain Arthur would keel over dead when the news registered. 

“Fifteen-hundred years,” Arthur says dumbly. 

“Really about fifteen-hundred and seventy-two, seventy three maybe? That’s if you want to get into specifics, but I figure you wouldn’t bother.”

“Camelot,” Arthur grunts. Merlin patted his shoulder sympathetically—and he felt so warm and real that his mind did a double take. Maybe this time it’s real. Maybe. 

“Long gone. Really, who’s bright idea was it to build most of it out of wood? The fire did it in pretty quickly, and it’s just an old heap of rubble now.”

Arthur staggered. “Oh,” he said. “Right. That means that Gwen-“ 

Merlin swallowed. 

“And Percival, Gwaine, Gods—Leon, they’re all gone.” Arthur froze in the street, and Merlin gave him a moment. 

“Gwaine went first, about the same time as you. Morgana got to him,” Merlin said shortly. His words choked up in his throat a bit and he blinked past a few surprising tears. 

He really did miss that knight. 

When he returned to Camelot after the whole Avalon Lake debacle the news had shattered him. If only he was there, he could’ve saved his friend. 

Merlin cleated his throat. God, these hallucinations always inspired bouts of self pity and nostalgia for his past life. 

“Percy wasn’t ever really the same after—he was there, you know. Witnessed the whole thing. He left a few weeks later, off to travel the world or so I heard. Never heard from him again, but I like to think he found happiness.”

Arthur made a noise in his throat and nodded. Shakily. Forcefully. Like he was convincing himself of something. 

“And Gwen?”

“She was the best Queen Camelot ever had,” Merlin said wistfully. “Some of the other nobles were proper arseholes, though, and she erm-“

“Hm?”

“Took Leon as a consort. It was just to quash all the doubts of her ruling, and plus it was like a good five years after-“

Arthur raised a hand. “Don’t.”

Merlin winced. “Should’ve eased you into a bit. Sorry for the sudden info dump.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” Arthur admitted. “It’s just hard to- God. I’m glad they all found peace, one way or another.”

Merlin nodded. “I know.”

“I just wish I could’ve been there.”

“I know.” Merlin says. And he does know. They last Arthur had said that. And the one before that. 

The moment shattered when a car horn honked loudly. A taxi pulled up next to them, the window rolling down and revealing an old greying man. 

He dangled a cigarette from his fingertips and spat something—Merlin chose not to look and discern what it was, some things deserved to be kept mysteries— onto the pavement. “You two lads in need of a ride? Discounted fare for the holiday.”

Arthur practically leapt out of his skin. “The contraptions have people inside them?”

Merlin places a hand on his shoulder—to either prevent him from running or launching an attack against the vehicle— and waved. “Thanks, but I think we’re set.”

The man shrugged. “Fair enough. Your friend alright there? He looks a bit...” his voice trailed off and he looked concerned it at Arthur’s shell shocked expression.

“Oh, him. He’s perfectly fine. Just a bit challenged, you see. Out of sorts up here,” Merlin talked his head and ignored Arthur’s offended squawk. “Cheers.” Merlin waved goodbye and tugged Arthur along. 

“Out of sorts up here? I could have you in the stocks for that.”

“Could you?” Merlin asked pointedly. 

“I-

“It’s payback anyway for that simpleton comment.”

“That was years, wait—not even years— centuries ago. You’re still holding that against me?”

“As I should. Uther thought I was a bumbling idiot of a manservant.”

“Oh, I’m sure he could’ve deduced that without my comment.”

They made it half a step before Merlin froze. “Wait. That taxi driver... he could see you.”

“Taxi driver? So that’s what it’s called.”

“it’s a car, or horse on steroids, I suppose. That’s beside the point. If you don’t exist, then why are all these people seeing you?”

“Because I’m real? This is real. I don’t know what you’re on about-“

“Perhaps that weed was stronger than I thought, or maybe it had an adverse affect to the alcohol. Or perhaps-“

“You’re truly mad. Well and truly insane. What on bloody hell is wrong with you-“

“No, you don’t understand. This, it’s not right. You’re dead, and you wouldn’t just come back now. Not after fifteen hundred years.” Merlin pondered it. “It could be an issue with my magic-“

“Oh,” Arthur says abruptly.

Merlin wrinkles his brow, “What’s that look about?”

“Nothing. It’s just, I forgot about the whole sorcery thing.”

“Yes, Right, I know. Disgrace to Camelot, a traitor, a disgrace to Camelot and a traitor, I’ve heard it all.”

“You kept your sorcery a secret for all these years, while we were friends, and never trusted me. What am I supposed to think?”

“Oh, please tell me we aren’t doing this again. The first time was torture enough.”

Arthur frowned, “Sorry I didn’t magi- automatically become accustomed to it. You lied to me for years, and i just found out a few days ago.”

“Look, I did what I had to do. It was hell, I admit, but you act like I had another option back then. Your father would’ve had me burned.” Merlin hesitated for a moment. “You would’ve had me burned.”

Arthur pivoted, “You truly think that of me?”

“You despise sorcerers! Don’t act like you didn’t hunt them down even after your father was dead. Why would I be any different?”

Arthur looked at a genuine loss for words, and he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I- You have to understand. I had sorcerers making attempts on my life near everyday. The only side I saw was the evil.”

Merlin rebutted, “Attempts that I saved you from. You would’ve been dead that first day we met if it weren’t for me.”

“I know that now, but not then. What did you expect?”

Merlin blinked, and rubbed at his forehead. This was too much for tonight, and he just wanted to crash. “Look, let’s just drop this. We’re almost here, and we can handle things in the morning. If you’re still here-“ He finished.

Arthur’s dead. He reminded himself. You’ve gone well and truly mad if you believe even a second of this is real.

“Lets just go, alright?” He said softly.

They fell into step, Arthur awkwardly lagging beside him. 

It was a quiet night, and a cleared throat interrupted it. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know how I would’ve reacted, under different circumstances, but I could never harm you, Merlin. At most, I would’ve turned you in and helped you escape.”

Merlin was quiet for a moment. “That’s good to know, honest. I feel like I’ve been just thinking about to for the past few centuries, so it’s... nice. To know.”

Arthur grinned at him, and it felt just like old times. Except they weren’t on horseback, off on some hunt or bandit chase. They were just two boys on the side of a busy road. 

Merlin stomped up the steps to his flat. He jingled the kick and kicked open the door, tossing the keys to Arthur after a moment of consideration. That should keep him occupied for a bit. 

Unfortunately, the questions keep coming. “I don’t- God. It’s been awhile.” Arthur says, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. “And what the hell are these?” His keys jingled loudly as Arthur fiddled with them. Merlin flopped onto the couch and draped a hand over his eyes. 

“I know, Your Majesty. And keys.” He got a bit more comfortable and wedged a pillow under his head. There go his plans for television and ice cream, damn it. 

“Obviously, I know they’re keys. I’ve just never seen them so- shiny.”

“There should be some leftover tacos in the fridge, if you even need to eat. Just heat them up in the- scratch that, we don’t want you burning the bloody place down.” 

Arthur shook his shoulder. “Fridge? Taco? I don’t- What are you doing?” He repeated for what felt like the twentieth time that night. 

Merlin cracked an eye at him. “Surely you remember what sleeping is. Keep it down, would you?”

The couch cushion creaked as Arthur sat down next to him. “I’m here in this foreign place, on this bloody uncomfortable contraption, soaking wet, and you’re trying to sleep?”

“Yep.”

“Ridiculous. Could you at least help me with this blasted armor. And answer a few of my questions?”

Merlin sat up and rubbed at his forehead. “I suppose I could run a shower for you. A waste of water, but you flipped your lid last time.”

“Last time?”

Merlin shook his head. “Never mind that. Here, get up. Stop that.” He swatted his hand away from the ceiling fan and pulled him up. 

It was a trip down memory lane, Merlin’s hair brushing Arthur’s as he quickly unlaced his armor. It fell to the ground in a heap and he made a mental note to take it out with the trash tomorrow, but then again, wouldn’t it just disappear? “What’s a shower?” Arthur asked. 

This isn’t real, he reminded himself. 

His tunic underneath was still soaked in blood under his left ribcage, dried and centuries old. 

The day that everything went to hell, the day that haunted Merlin’s nightmares. The day he’d failed his King. “It’s like a bath, but better. You’ll love it.” 

With a shaky inhale, Merlin tugged the tunic off him too and motioned for him to take of his pants. 

Leaving Arthur to undress, he squeezed through the small hallway and into his bedroom. He fished an old Metallica shirt and a pair of sweats out of his bottom drawer. After a moment, he grabbed a pair of socks. The floors got rather chilly at night. 

Merlin contemplated banging his head against the set of dresses. God, he was a bloody fool. 

This isn’t real. It could can’t be real.

“You have your own chambers?” Arthur mused, studying his room. He was in nothing save for a set of underclothes, and Merlin forced his gaze back to the floor. 

“Something like that. It’s called a flat. I pay rent each month.”

Arthur took the bundle of clothing uncertainly and stared down at it. “You’re making money? How? Do you serve someone else?”

Merlin snorted and pushed past Arthur, leading him into the spacious restroom. “I work at a bakery,” he explained, humoring himself. “I handle the orders and bake all the goods.”

Arthur frowned. “I never knew you could bake.”

“Yeah, well, quite a lot changes after a few hundred years. I’d offer to show you around the place, if-“ Merlin winces. If you were real. He lets his sentence trail off awkwardly and Arthur shoots him a concerned glance. 

He flicks the spout over and water sputters from the shower head. Arthur flinched back and stared at the water in wonder. “This is sorcery,” he said dumbly. “How is water coming from the ceiling?”

“The wonders of modern plumbing, not sorcery,” Merlin corrected. He ran an experimental hand over the stream and it came back warm.

“Right, you can wash up then. Surely you can take it from here?”

Arthur jabbed a hand quickly under the stream and pulled back. He looked light a frightened cat swatting at a foe. 

“Maybe not. Look, it’s a shower it isn’t going to bloody hurt you. Turn it this way to warm it up, this way to turn it off. This here is soap—use it.”

Arthur frowned and began to strip, tugging off his shirt. “Alright. Afterwards, you’re going to answer some questions of mine. Explain all of this.”

Merlin took that as his cue to leave, bowing exaggeratedly one last time. “As you wish, sire.”

Merlin immediately collapsed on the couch. After awhile, he absentmindedly hears the shower flicking off. The toilet also flushes approximately eleven experimental times and he hears the sink being flipped on and off. 

Merlin’s sound asleep by the time Arthur comes out, but he still dimly registers a weight sitting on the opposite end of the couch.   
—————————————————————

Merlin wakes with a sour taste in his mouth and promptly heads to the sink to dispel the contents of his stomach. A glass of water and a copious amount of painkillers later, he registers the heap of bloodied clothing on the bar. 

The television is blaring from the sitting room as well, playing some cheesy Sunday morning cartoon, and his carton of beer is out on the counter, half-drank. Trust Arthur to find the booze right away.

“Fuck,” Merlin muttered, letting his head hit the fridge. So this was _real._


End file.
